belong to it tremendously," he returned. "I
never met such men before--or such women," he finished with a smile.

"But, do you like it?" she persisted. "Do you like the life--your
work--would you be satisfied to live here always?"

"Yes and No," he answered again, hesitatingly.

"Oh, well," she said, with, he thought, a little bitterness and
rebellion, "it doesn't really matter to you whether you like it or not,
because _you_ are a man. If you are not satisfied with your environment,
you can leave it--go away somewhere else--make yourself a part of some
other life."

He shook his head, wondering a little at her earnestness. "That does not
always follow. Can a man, just because he is a man, always have or do
just what he likes?"

"If he's strong enough," she insisted. "But a woman must always do what
other people like."

He was sure now that she was speaking rebelliously.

She continued, "Can't you, if you are not satisfied with this life here,
go away?"

"Yes, but not necessarily to any life I might desire. Perhaps some
sheriff wants me. Perhaps I am an escaped convict. Perhaps--oh, a
thousand things."

She laughed aloud in spite of her serious mood. "What nonsense!"

"But, why nonsense? What do you and your friends know of me?"

"We know that you are not that kind of a man," she retorted warmly,
"because"--she hesitated--"well, because you are _not_ that sort of a
man."

"Are you sure you don't mean because I am not man enough to make myself
wanted very badly, even by the sheriff?" he asked, and Kitty could not
mistake the bitterness in his voice.

"Why, Mr. Patches!" she cried. "How could you think I meant such a
thing? Forgive me! I was only wondering foolishly what you, a man of
education and culture, could find in this rough life that would appeal
to you in any way. My curiosity is unpardonable, I suppose, but you must
know that we are all wondering why you are here."

"I do not blame you," he returned, with that self-mocking smile, as
though he were laughing at himself. "I told you I could always be
depended upon to make a fool of myself. You see I am doing it now. I
don't mind telling you this much--that I am here for the same reason
that you went to visit Mrs. Baldwin this afternoon."

"For the good of your soul?" she asked gently.

"Exactly," he returned gravely. "For the good of my soul."

"Well, then, Mr. Honorable Patches, here's to your soul's good health!"
she cried brightly, checkin